Snowday
by alanwolfmoon
Summary: Mix a two-decade long obsession, a blizzard, and a convenient plot device. This is what you get.


Cuddy yawned, lifting her head a little off the warm chest it had been resting on. Odd, she didn't remember a date... and she didn't feel like she had a hangover... well, she certainly hadn't been raped, she didn't even feel like she had had sex...

She sat up, rubbing her eyes, and looked around.

The apartment she was in was vaguely familiar...

She looked down at the person she had been sleeping on.

"House!?"

He groaned, opening his eyes a crack.

"Oh... you're aw-w-w-a-a-a-ke..." he said, yawning.

"House! Why the hell am I here?! Did you drug me!?" she yelled, slapping him.

He blinked at her, evidently surprised by her reaction.

"You seriously don't remember?"

"Remember what?!"

House sighed, sitting up.

"You had a panic attack, wouldn't let anybody give you a sedative, I don't think you even recognized Foreman or your assistant. Wilson's in Alabama for that conference, and you wouldn't let anybody touch you, so I ended up driving you here."

"And sleeping with me?!"

House rolled his eyes.

"Use your brain. You're still dressed. I'm still dressed. You wouldn't let go of me, and I was tired."

Cuddy stared at him for a long moment, trying to detect any lie. She didn't find one. Her eyes felt sandy, like they did after she cried, she was wearing her clothes, even her stockings, House was wearing his socks and everything else. She felt shaky and tired, and both her and House's shirts had salty damp spots on them.

House saw the acceptance on her face, nodded to himself, then climbed awkwardly out of the bed.

"You still look tired."

She nodded, scrubbing at her face and thinking it was a good thing she had gone light with the makeup yesterday.

House seemed to be waiting for something.

She shrugged, and lay back down, pulling the quilt over herself and snuggling into it.

She heard House's retreating footsteps, and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

Cuddy blinked, as she realized the breath had smelled like clean sweat, plain soap, pine and maybe... was that moss? House's bed smelled like moss? She had expected it to smell like it needed washing, and maybe old spice or cinnamon; not an invisible forest.

She yawned and shrugged to herself, then pulled the quilt a little closer–ignoring that it fell off her feet–and closed her eyes.

House peeked back in about twenty minutes later, saw she was soundly asleep, and leaned against the doorway, just watching her, absently chewing his lower lip.

He noticed that the blanket had slipped off her feet.

House limped over, quietly as he could, and tugged a little at a loose corner, pulling it over her still stockinged feet.

She made a little snuffling noise, and he froze, heart practically stopping.

She sat up, adjusted the pillows, and curled onto her side, all without seeing him.

House swallowed, standing completely and utterly still, barely breathing.

The rise and fall over her chest gradually evened and slowed, and he edged out, supporting himself on the wall rather than risking the sound of the rubber tip of his cane hitting the floor.

When Cuddy sat up next, it was to find a note on the table next to House's bed, explaining that his patient had crashed, there was leftover Chinese in the fridge, her assistant had called to lecture her into taking the day off, the button on the icemaker stuck, he would be back in less than four hours because either he solved the case or the patient was dead in three, and finally that if she really needed to go somewhere, the key to his car was on the desk between the doors to the kitchen and bathroom.

Cuddy pulled off her stockings and skirt, slipping into a pair of too-long sweatpants folded under the note, then exchanged her still-damp blouse for one of House's shirts.

She walked sleepily into the kitchen, finding another note stuck to the coffee pot–fresh, if you're up before nine it should still be hot, and a third on the milk–drink at your own risk.

Cuddy opened the lid on the milk, sniffed, wrinkled her nose, and went to dump it out.

Unfortunately, it seemed to be rather solid, and wouldn't go past the neck.

She put it back in the fridge.

A cup of deliciously strong coffee later, she was feeling more human, and started wandering around House's apartment, looking for something to do.

She found books in languages she couldn't even identify, empty and half-empty vicodin bottles scattered on various surfaces, several porn magazines that she closed, about twenty remotes scattered around the couch and on the coffee table, three shelves of cd's and records, and a entire bookcase of piano and guitar music.

She pushed the open button on his cd player, smirking a little at the five cd's inside it. The Who, The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes IV CD 2, Miles Davis, Alanis Moreset, and Mozart. So much for the nobody-likes-classical-music theory he had applied to her sperm donors. Then again, he seemed to like just about every type of music, so maybe that was a different sort of thing than someone who listed it on the resume for being a sperm donor.

She laughed a little, quietly, as she thought of what House might put on such a resume. Genius doctor, great at music, speaks who knows how many languages... likes music, wrestling, pancakes and being an ass?

She laughed again, as she thought the last one.

Cuddy eventually sat down on his couch, digging through a pile of medical journals for one that was actually in English, or even in Spanish.

The previous day's events must have taken more out of her than she thought, because the next thing she knew, there was a roaring sound going on outside, and she was shivering.

She got up, walking to the window, arms wrapped around herself against the cold.

It was impossible to see practically anything outside, because of the clouds of snow flying past the window.

Cuddy walked back to the couch, hunted around for the correct remote, and turned on the tv, flipping it over to the weather channel.

"Record breaking blizzards are slamming the area, with the worst over Princeton and Trenton. Accumulations of three feet are the expected minimum, and some places may get up to five. Trenton has already gotten a foot, even though the storm has only been going for twenty minutes, and roads are extremely treacherous. Phone and power lines are falling left and right, and several cell phone towers have malfunctioned under the massive coating of ice accumulating on them. Stay indoors and hope you have enough milk and toilet paper. Even if you don't, stay at home."

Cuddy bit her lip, realizing that House must have taken his motorcycle, if he had left his car key. She hoped he was ok, and that he had enough sense to stay at the hospital, instead of fighting through the storm.

She sat down, pulling the couch blanket around her, and watched the radar and snow reports, until she noticed a sort of growling noise, which grew louder and finally stopped right outside the window.

Cuddy got up, wiping the steam off the glass, and peering out the cleared section.

She could just make out a figure, who climbed off whatever they had been sitting on, pulled off what looked like a helmet, and staggered towards the steps.

Cuddy hurried to the door, opened it, and found herself just in time to catch House as he slipped on the steps, losing his grip on his cane and helmet.

She helped her shivering employee inside, dug around in the snow for the lost objects, and dashed back up the steps, bare feet numb from just that short trip.

House was sitting on the floor just inside the door, curled in on himself and shivering.

"Are you ok?" asked Cuddy, feeling this was not the best time for a lecture.

He nodded, fumbling to get his shoes untied with stiff and gloved fingers, dripping all over as the snow covering him melted.

Cuddy went into the kitchen, micro-waving some of the coffee and pouring it into a mug, making sure to put just enough cream in to make it a drinkable temperature, without cooling it too much.

House had gotten one shoe off by the time she got back with the mug, and was still fumbling with the laces on the other one.

Cuddy knelt, and in a very no-nonsense, I'm-doing-this-because-it's-practical way, untied his shoe, slipped it off, and started undoing the velcro on his gloves.

"Jeeze House, you've nearly got frostbite." she said, gently examining his frosty fingers.

House winced as she bent one of them, and she sighed.

"At least you were wearing your helmet, so your face and ears should be fine. What were you thinking, riding a motorcycle home in a blizzard like that?"

"I was halfway here by the time it started, so there wasn't much point in turning around. And I got lost just getting here." he answered slowly, teeth chattering.

Cuddy sighed, nodding, and unzipped his jacket, being very careful as she guided it off his hands.

She sat him down on the couch–he was too cold to be very stubborn or prideful–told him she was going to take off his pants and socks–which were soaked–and did so without him so much as rolling his eyes.

Cuddy frowned, unnerved by his nearly silent obedience, as she slid the thickest pair of sweatpants she had found in his dresser carefully over his legs.

She put the quilt from his bed over his legs, got up, found a large-ish plastic container in a drawer, and filled it with warm water.

When she got back, he seemed to be a bit more alert, and was trying to un-button his wet shirt with his teeth.

Cuddy rolled her eyes and did it for him, adding the shirt to the pile of sopping clothes near the door.

"Owowowow!" he yelled, as she dipped his hands in the nearly lukewarm water.

"Sorry, but it's better than losing your fingers."

He sighed, clenching his teeth, and leaned back into the cushions. His hair was dripping on everything, and his torso was still wet.

Cuddy got a hand towel from his bathroom, and started drying his hair.

"Hey! I'm forty-seven, I don't need a nursemaid!" he said, annoyed.

"Yeah, well I figured you'd do a lot better on the warming up thing without chunks of ice in your hair."

He blinked, as she dropped a few clumps of snow into the water his hands were in.

"True, but you still don't have to be all mother-y about it."

"Right, you go ahead and do it with your ever so functional fingers there."

He groaned.

"Fine..."

She continued toweling, until his hair was all fluffy and sticking up.

Cuddy didn't try and dry his chest and arms, though. He deserved at least a little bit of dignity.

She set the still-steaming mug of coffee on the table, then stood back, watching him continue to shiver and stare at nothing, shifting his bad leg repeatedly and making the water slop onto the quilt. He looked really miserable.

Cuddy sat down on the couch, flipped through his tivo in the hopes of getting him to say something, and finally put it back on the weather reports.

They sat there for a while, until House said the weather reports were boring, and told her to turn the tv off because he just wanted to go to sleep. She did, though she was a little worried about his desire to sleep–hoping he was just tired and not seriously hypothermic. She contemplated taking his temperature, but his shivering was growing less and she knew he would get annoyed.

They heard a loud crash from outside, and the lights flickered, then went out.

House groaned.

Cuddy sighed, getting up and fumbling around in the darkness for his phone.

She tripped, banging her knee.

"Ow..." she muttered, holding it.

"You ok?" asked House.

"Just tripped and banged my knee..." she answered, a little surprised that he had asked.

He didn't say anything else, and she continued on her way to the phone.

"The line's dead."

She heard him sigh, then water sloshing, and a tiny "ow", presumably as House took his hands out of the water and lifted the basin off his lap.

Cuddy started to edge her way back towards the couch, unknowingly at the same time as House pushed himself up and started limping towards the corner Cuddy had set his cane in.

They collided mid-way, Cuddy falling backwards with House trying–and failing–to steady her, ending up with her stuck beneath him as he swore, his bad leg screaming at him after the unexpected jolt.

She said nothing for at least fifteen minutes, letting him recover from the fall and wait for the pain to fade, then simply asked if he had hurt anything. She got a tense answer of no I don't think so, and understood that he was still in a lot of pain.

"House? Are you ok?" she asked after another ten or so minutes, having noticed that the breath hitting her face had slowed.

He didn't answer.

"House?"

She wiggled her hand out from under him, placing it on his back. His breathing was slow and regular. He had fallen asleep lying on top of her.

Cuddy sighed, deciding she couldn't really blame him; he must have had quite a night dealing with her panic attack, and then riding home in a blizzard and freezing half to death.

She gently shook his shoulder, calling his name and asking him if he was awake.

He groaned after a minute of this, lifting his head off her chest.

"Oh... sorry."

He rolled off her, and she was a little annoyed at herself for wishing he hadn't. That road held nothing but trouble with a capital–and bolded and italicized and underlined and colored and probably several point sizes bigger than all the other letters–H.

She could tell it was something of a struggle for him to get to his feet without the cane, but he managed, and even gave her a hand up, though she only used it for balance, without pulling on it at all.

He took a little longer than was quite usual to let go of her hand, and she asked him if his fingers still hurt.

He shook his head, then kicked himself mentally.

"Not much."

"Oh. Good."

"The heat's half electric, half gas, so it should stay at least a little warm."

"How do you have half electric, half gas?" she asked, following him with a hand on his shoulder, as he limped to the kitchen.

"The building's pretty old, about two-hundred years. There's technically four different heating systems, a fireplace, coal grates, radiators, and a crappy electrical air vent system. The radiators should work, at least until the hot water runs out, but the vents won't. I don't have coal for the grates, and I'd have to get the landlady to let me into the basement to use them even if I did, but we can light a fire."

"That sounds good." said Cuddy, sitting down on the stool he led her to. It was ridiculously dark for being about three pm, but they could make out the vague outlines of things now that their eyes were adjusted.

House fumbled around in a drawer, then paused, limped out, and came back with his penlight, eventually managing to hold it in his teeth and light a candle, his cane hanging on his elbow.

Cuddy raised her eyebrows.

"You don't own a real flashlight?"

"Uh... no, not really." he mumbled around the light.

She shook her head, a little amused.

He picked up the box of matches, handed her the candle, and limped out to the livingroom.

She followed him, kneeling down as he crumpled up some newspaper, building something resembling a log-cabin style fire.

She held the candle to the paper, and they waited for some of the tinder to catch, then blew, getting the smaller sticks to burn, and finally catching the two logs on fire.

Cuddy wondered why he didn't just use fire-starters, but shrugged it off as one of his typical oddities.

Cuddy got up, setting the candle in a candle holder above the fireplace, about to head back to the couch. She paused, as House tried to pull himself up on the top of the fireplace, and nearly fell, his bad leg stiff and cramping from him having knelt for so long.

She wordlessly offered him a hand, which he took, and managed to drag himself upright with the help of.

His cane wasn't enough though, and she ended up helping him back to the couch, his arm over her shoulders.

He sat down with a sigh, leaning back and closing his eyes, obviously tired.

Cuddy tapped him on the shoulder, and he glared at her, expecting a question about his well-being and resenting it already.

"Can I use the penlight?"

The glare faded as quickly as it had come, and he fished the tiny flashlight out of his pocket.

She reached across him to pick up the journal she had been reading earlier, feeling a bit nervous about the entire situation, and glad for the darkness, because it his her blush.

They sat there for a while, watching the fire, House too tired to feel like talking, Cuddy too nervous.

The problem wasn't being around him. She did fine around him normally, where she had plenty of control and was sure of the situation. It was the being around him alone in his apartment with the phone lines out and the electricity dead and no way to go anywhere really away from him.

It was also the notes and the sweatpants and the coffee. It was the waking up and thinking he had wronged her, and finding out he had done something nice far beyond his usual character, that he might possibly have done for maybe Wilson, but only if he had absolutely nothing else to do, and hadn't gotten a new video game in the last month. He had had a patient, and apparently it had been something of a struggle to get her even to his car, but he had still done it.

She blinked, coming out of her thoughts, as something warm rested against her shoulder and side.

She looked to her left.

House had fallen asleep and curled against her, looking more peaceful than Cuddy had ever seen him.

She smiled a little to herself, putting an arm around his shoulders. Unlike when he was awake, being friendly when he was asleep would not lead to anything.

Or at least, that's what she thought.

She didn't realize, until she woke up, the fire burning low, her watch reading seven pm, that she might fall asleep, warm and comfortable as she was, and that if she did, he might wake before her.

No, these thoughts didn't enter her mind, until she woke to find him watching her and wearing an odd expression on his face. One that was a mix of happiness, indecision, and something that she might almost have called tenderness, but for the fact it was House.

He looked away, as he realized her eyes were open a little bit, and she could see, even by the dim light of the fire, that he was blushing.

"House... why did you say chose someone you like?"

House blinked.

"Cus it's stupid to have a kid with someone you can't stand. If you can't stand them, it's a good bet you won't be able to stand the kid."

Cuddy shook her head.

"No, I mean, why did you bother to say it?"

House looked away.

Cuddy sighed.

He glanced at her, frowning.

"Why do you want to know?"

She shrugged.

"Because it's an anomaly."

"No it isn't."

She blinked.

"What do you mean, no it isn't?"

"I mean that it isn't an anomaly."

"On what level is it not an anomaly? Because I'm talking about you normally."

House shook his head.

"Then it's still not an anomaly."

"How is it not an anomaly?"

House sighed.

"It's only an anomaly if you're talking about behavior."

She blinked.

"Not if I'm talking about emotions?"

He got up, limping to the kitchen.

Cuddy bit her lower lip.

That was as loud of a 'yes' as if he had shouted it through the speaker system of a Grateful Dead concert.

Wait... run through that again?

House... wanting to tell her something helpful... was... not an anomaly?

House... cared what happened to her?

House... cared about her?

...

When did that happen?

"House?"

Cuddy tilted her head a little, spotting him on the floor of the kitchen, trying to spin his cane with his still-sore fingers.

"Are you ok?"

"What? Yeah, fine."

Cuddy blinked.

"House. Stop it. I'm tired of dancing around this."

House sighed.

"Fine. Self preservation."

"What? You figure I'm going to punish you if I get a kid I can't stand?"

"No... I... forget it."

"House."

House got up painfully, limping away.

Cuddy sighed, following him.

"House, what..." she trailed off, stopping.

She probably wasn't the only one feeling trapped.

An hour later, she was kneeling in front of the fire, putting another log on it–how had House got all this wood in here with his bad leg? Wilson must have done it for him...–when she felt an odd prickly feeling on the back of her neck, and she heard three-beat footfalls behind her.

"If you weren't there I wouldn't have a job, would have lost my entire department, including myself, and would be in jail, probably for the rest of my life. Self preservation."

She heard the steps retreat back towards House's bedroom. She didn't follow them.

"He... he depends on me... and he's scared... not just of depending on me... but of... wanting to depend on me... if he simply does, it's a fact. Not something he decided, and could be betrayed in... but he... he's scared that if I fail him, it'll hurt."

Cuddy stood up, bitting her lower lip, and looking at the closed door.

She shook her head, unsure of what she felt about the revelation, sighed, and curled up on the couch.

When Cuddy woke next, it was to the feeling of something cold and wet landing on her cheek.

She opened her eyes.

It was freezing in here...

She sat up, looking at the... open door?

"House?"

No answer.

Cuddy blinked, realizing there was a thick blanket draped over her, though it had fallen partially off when she sat up.

She slid out from under it, laying it back over where she had been to preserve the warm spot, then picked up the thinner blanket lying on the floor, wrapping it around herself as she walked towards the open door.

"House?" she asked, seeing a tall dark shape outlined against the snow and framed by the doorway.

He didn't answer, though she was sure it was him. The cane was proof enough of that.

She slipped her feet into a pair of his sneakers, walking out onto the landing to touch his shoulder.

He didn't look at her.

"House?"

Nothing.

She sighed.

He was either upset or angry, and she didn't want to deal with either. But they were stuck together, until it stopped snowing and the roads were cleared. Dealing with it now was better than letting it simmer.

"Are you mad at me, or something?"

He still didn't react.

She looked at him carefully for any sign of what he was feeling. The only thing she saw was that his left hand was clenched.

Cuddy sighed again, edging past him, and stepping onto the lower step.

She turned around to see his face, but the too-loose sneaker did nothing to improve her traction, and she slipped, falling backwards off the steps.

Or, at least, falling off balance.

She didn't fall all the way back, because House's left hand was gripping her wrist, his right holding on to the railing to keep himself from falling as well.

His head was down, so she still couldn't see his expression.

"House, you can let go. There's four feet of snow, I'm not going to hurt anything." she said, evenly.

He didn't let go.

"House?"

He tugged hard on her wrist, pulling her upright, but didn't anticipate her momentum, and fell backwards himself, landing on the mostly cleared top step, then curling up on his side, not gripping his leg, but still obviously in some kind of pain.

Cuddy knelt, gently placing her hand on his shoulder. He wasn't even wearing a over-shirt, just a t-shirt and sweatpants.

He sat up, still keeping his face so she couldn't see it, and pulled himself to his feet on the railing.

Cuddy expected him to go sulk in his room immediately, but he hesitated, still gripping the railing, and swaying a little.

"Your leg hurt?" she asked.

He shook his head.

A gust of wind threw a huge cloud of snow at them, and Cuddy reached forward on instinct, to find something to steady herself on.

She found a shoulder, but it moved as she moved, and its owner fell backwards against her.

She ended up on her butt, House's back against her chest, as the wind continued to blow so much snow that they couldn't see the door two feet away.

It was as blinding as being in the dark of House's apartment, except everything was white instead of black.

Cuddy felt House shivering, and tried to wrap the blanket around him as well, but it got blown out of her hands.

She frowned.

If he was shivering, the movements were awful big...

Oh.

He wasn't just shivering.

He was crying.

Cuddy let go.

He leaned forward, starting to crawl towards the door.

Cuddy heard a loud slam.

She felt frantically in the direction House had gone, worried that he had shut her out–not that she thought he would actually leave her out in a blizzard for an extended period of time.

She found his ankle.

"What happened?"

A hand reached back, taking hers off the ankle, and pulling it forward to touch the closed door.

The wind had blown it shut.

Cuddy stood, shivering, the hand holding hers steadying her, and felt around for the doorknob. It was locked–or frozen shut.

Cuddy sat down, yelled what she had found at what she thought was probably House's ear, then yelped, as arms wrapped around her shoulders, and she felt herself being flattened against the concrete landing, House pinning her down.

A hollow crashing sound came from above them, and House grunted with pain.

Some idiot had left their trash can out.

Cuddy sat up as House rolled off her, and they pushed the large object off the landing.

"Are you ok?!" yelled Cuddy over the wind.

"Yes!" came back at her, but the voice saying it was hoarse.

Cuddy scooted towards House, and they leaned back against the door, holding on to each other instinctively for warmth.

Cuddy could feel that House's chest was still jerking, though not nearly as much as before.

"Why are you crying?!"

"I'm not crying! Why would I be crying?!"

"I don't know! That's why I'm asking!"

She tensed, as his hand pulled on her shoulder, but allowed him to draw her closer to him.

"Because I can't stop." came from close-by her ear.

She closed her eyes, overwhelmed by the situation and her own emotions, and pressed herself closer against House, shivering.

"Then don't try."

"It's stupid."

"It's good."

"How is crying good?"

"It means you feel something."

"I don't like feeling."

"You don't like feeling pain."

"Feeling anything just leads to pain."

"Then why do we all do it?"

Silence, other than the roar of the wind.

"I don't know."

"You hate not knowing."

"I know. But I hate pain too."

"Have you ever thought, that maybe people like feeling because it takes away their pain?"

"It causes pain."

"It caused you a lot more pain than it should have. You don't feel too little to make it worth doing at all. You feel too much."

She felt his face press against the top of her head.

For another ten minutes, neither of them moved or said anything.

"The last time someone told me I felt too much was the night I graduated from medical school."

Cuddy raised her head off his chest.

"Who told you that? I'm pretty sure you didn't have a girlfriend. And if you did... well, you didn't have one the next day..."

She heard him sniff loudly.

"I told you I wanted to celebrate. I told you the graduation party had turned into a barfight. I told you Mark Granger had been offended by my shirt and punched me because he was dead drunk. I told you my parents had to leave because they couldn't get someone to watch the dog. I told you since your date didn't show, neither of us had anything to do. I didn't tell you my dad yelled at me for getting a 104 on my practical instead of 105 because I dropped a tongue depressor. I didn't tell you I hadn't been invited to the graduation party. I didn't tell you my dad hit me when I said I thought he should be proud of me. I didn't tell you my dad told me he never wanted to see me again. I didn't tell you I sabotaged your date. I didn't tell you I needed someone. I didn't tell you Marie Calistor, Tammy Bates, and Elizabeth Fineman all asked me out on the way to your dorm. I didn't tell you I needed just you."

Cuddy felt his chest shuddering.

Cuddy felt tears dripping onto her head.

Cuddy sat up, pulling away from him.

Cuddy felt him slump, sobbing even harder.

Cuddy put her arms around his shoulders, drawing him close to her own chest, rubbing his back and smoothing his half frozen hair.

Cuddy felt his arms wrap around her.

Cuddy felt him keep crying, on and on.

Cuddy felt him eventually calm.

Cuddy noticed the wind and snow was lessening.

Cuddy could see to the end of the steps.

Cuddy could see to House's motorcycle.

Cuddy could see the road.

Cuddy could see the buildings on the other side.

Cuddy could see the entire street sparkling and white, edges rounded, everything perfect and pristine.

Cuddy felt House raise his head off her chest.

Cuddy looked down.

They looked out at the scene of perfect white-ness.

The door fell open behind them, and they tumbled onto their backs, blinking.

They sat up.

"I knew you sabotaged my date."

House looked at her, surprised.

"Seriously?"

She nodded, smiling.

"Tom told me you said I had crabs. He didn't believe me when I said I didn't."

House grimaced.

"He said he didn't believe me because you told him you gave them to me."

"Uh... first thing that came to mind..."

"I wasn't mad at you. Tom was an idiot, and I only realized that because he believed you. You hadn't talked to a girl–or an interested boy–the entire year you were there."

House opened his mouth to object.

Cuddy put a finger over his lips.

"Tammy, Elizabeth and Marie were gloating the whole day beforehand because you hadn't moved quite all the way to the back of the room when they sat down next to me, in the row in front of you, at that assembly where they told us about what was going to happen during graduation, and what to do with our parents afterwards. They were hanging out in my dorm because I had a window. They left when they saw you coming. I watched out the window because I had doubts that you sabotaged my date just to screw with me. While I was watching out the window, I saw Mark Granger bringing his date to her dorm. He was perfectly sober. He was also left-handed and punched like a thirteen-year-old girl even when he wasn't drunk. I knew you were lying. I didn't say anything because I knew you needed me. I didn't hire you because I thought you saved me a night of no fuzz. I hired you because you needed me to. I didn't tell you because you needed to believe you were in control, needed to believe that I had a reason to always stick by you. I guess I didn't tell you for a little too long."

House stared at her for a long moment.

Then he laughed.

"God I'm an idiot."

She smiled.

"No. You're not."

They got up, shivering and sopping wet, covered in snow.

Cuddy reached back outside to get House's cane, then shut the door behind her.

House was sitting on the couch, the heavy blanket thrown back.

Cuddy handed him the cane.

He leaned it against the table to his left.

Cuddy sat down next to him.

"So..."

Cuddy looked at him.

He was blushing and looking away.

"Yes House, this is what you think it is."

He looked at her.

She smiled.

He smiled back.

She leaned sideways, against the arm of the couch, waiting for him.

He leaned into her and closed his eyes.

Cuddy blinked for a while.

He had been practically stalking her for half a decade, they were alone and completely snowed in, and the first thing he wanted to do was cuddle.

Ok, House. Ok.

This is real.

Cuddling is ok.

I get it.

Cuddling means more than sex.

In your case, probably a lot more.

She sighed, gently easing the towel from the day before behind his head, so his wet hair wouldn't soak through her shirt.

They were both freezing.

The next morning, House woke stiff and aching, his thigh a throbbing, stabbing, spasming sinkhole of pain.

Kneeling, falling, and keeping Cuddy from falling yesterday had been bad enough, but it always got worse when he had been in the cold, which he certainly had been, and he had slept on the couch, which, though comfortable enough that Wilson preferred it to the awkward silences and loud arguments of his own home, was not the best place to sleep if he wanted to stand up in the morning.

Cuddy didn't comment on his four vain attempts to lever himself up, however.

She simply gave him a hand, and put an arm around his waist, steadying him as he hesitated, unsure even of his ability to take a single step.

The journey to the kitchen was an agonizingly slow one, and House sat on a stool with a sigh as soon as they were there.

Cuddy smiled.

House blinked.

"Your stove still work?"

"Yeah, it's gas. There's a lighter... um, I think in the drawer under the microwave."

Cuddy dug in the drawer, shaking her head.

"It's not in there."

House sighed.

"Um... ok... I don't know."

Cuddy nodded, left the room, and came back with a lit candle, and set it in a milk glass to hold it up.

"Have you got any pancake mix or something like that?"

"Yeah. Shouldn't be expired or anything."

"Good."

House watched rather drowsily, as Cuddy dug around for a frying pan and vegetable oil.

She wrinkled her nose as she looked at the congealed oil she had found in the back of a cabinet.

"Ok... when is the last time Wilson cooked anything here?"

"Mmm... 'bout four months. Said he was tired of running out to the store for every single ingredient."

Cuddy dumped the bottle in the trash, opening the fridge. It was still pretty cold inside–the entire apartment was cold.

"How old is the butter?"

"Only a week. I put that on toast."

Cuddy nodded, slicing off a piece and dropping it into the pan.

House still looked sleepy when Cuddy turned around from mixing the batter.

She frowned, walked over, and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Do you want to just go back to sleep? Or at least to bed?"

He blinked tiredly at her.

"Yeah. Sorry."

She shook her head.

"Better than finding out later that I've been making you stay up when you're exhausted."

House nodded, and Cuddy turned off the stove, then steadied him on the way to his bedroom.

He sat down with a soft thump, lifted his leg up with both hands, and frowned at the tangled and balled up quilt, trying to identify a corner, or at least an edge.

Cuddy smiled, watching him.

Watching House attempt to straighten his quilt. Not exactly the most exiting thing she had ever imagined doing, but... just like the cuddling earlier... the little, domestic, intimate things seemed to mean so much more than any actual 'relationship activities' would.

Not to say that said activities would not be enjoyable. They just wouldn't mean as much.

An hour later, Cuddy softly padded her way back towards House's bedroom, blinking when she saw that he was still awake, lying with a pillow between his knees, face buried in a stray corner of his quilt, shifting uncomfortably every few seconds.

Cuddy felt her heart twist, as she watched him toss and turn, unable to relive the pain enough to drift off, despite the fact of his obvious exhaustion.

Then something occurred to her. She was allowed to be close.

She walked in, sitting down next to him.

He glared at her reflexively.

"I'm fine."

She nodded.

"I know. But you're not happy."

He blinked, holding himself awkwardly still, as she laid down to his right and curled up against him, pulling the quilt back over both of them.

"You're probably just cold." she added.

House didn't do anything for a moment, then grinned to himself, put his arm over her shoulders, and closed his eyes.

House grunted, jerking, very confused by the warm form he was sleeping against, and the odd bird that seemed to be rather annoyed at him.

"House, should I answer it?"

He forced his eyes open briefly–his eyelids wouldn't stay up any longer than a second–and caught a flash of Cuddy next to him, and the phone lit up and ringing.

"Urng." was his only answer, and he dropped his head back into the pillow–against Cuddy's back.

He felt her shoulder blade move, heard her say hello.

"House? It's Wilson. He's worried about you. And confused as to what I'm doing answering you phone."

House grunted, sticking his hand in the air in the hopes of it finding the phone without him having to look for it. Cuddy placed it in his palm.

"Nnn?"

"House, are you ok? I saw the forecast online, but I didn't have coverage in Alabama, and couldn't get a hold of you on your cellphone to warn you about the blizzard, then your phone was out, and you still weren't answering, are you ok?" rambled Wilson, sounding upset.

"Urng. Fine. And sleepy."

"Oh... sorry... why is Cuddy there?" asked Wilson, sounding much calmer now that he had actually heard House's voice.

"Because she's not somewhere else."

"No, her being there is why she's not somewhere else, not the other way around. Why is she there... did... House... no way... no way. You did not–"

"Deal with the fact that she had a major panic attack at the hospital by driving her to my apartment and letting her hold on to my shirt and cry herself to sleep? Yes, I did."

"...oh. That's... unexpectedly nice of you."

"Not really. Having dealt with it without the free near-porn would have been unexpectedly nice of me."

He heard Wilson sigh on the other end.

"Well... I'll call you when I get back, I'm stuck at the airport."

"Right. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"Somehow, I think I would have more trouble doing that than not doing that."

House snorted, pressing the end button, and handing the phone back to Cuddy.

She looked at him, frowning.

"You didn't tell him?"

"More of a shock factor if I don't. Plus, I can't see his face over the phone."

Cuddy snorted.

House sat up, looking across her at the clock.

"Whoa... it's ten am..."

Cuddy blinked at him.

"What's so odd about that?"

"I haven't slept more than four hours at a time in five years."

She blinked.

He glanced at her, a little apprehensive.

"Well, I certainly know how to fix that."

House actually blushed a little bit.

Cuddy raised her eyebrows.

He shrugged.

"You spend half a decade watching someone and have them make that comment. Then you can look at me strangely for blushing."

She laughed.

An hour later, they had confirmed that although the phone had been working for long enough for Wilson to call them, it was back out, as was the power.

Cuddy watched House pace restlessly around his apartment, not so much out of a desire to actually go anywhere, as much as a feeling of being trapped and unable to leave if he actually wanted to.

"House. Stop it, you're making me dizzy."

He stopped, sighed, sat down next to her, and leaned back.

"Sorry."

He glanced nervously at her a couple of times, left foot jiggling up and down.

"You know, things tend to happen faster if you just ask."

A long silence.

"Doyouwannadoit."

Cuddy leaned forward, head in her hands, laughing.

"Are you fourteen or forty seven?" she asked, shaking her head.

He glared, a little hurt by her laughter.

She shook her head again.

"I'm sorry... it's just, I was expecting you to be constantly trying to woo me into it, but then it turns out like this, and it's not like you at all."

"Oh. It... it is like me. I don't know where the boundaries are. The thing that's not like me is that I don't want to push them, because I like how this is going."

She smiled.

"Ok. The boundaries are, no doing it at work, and no pushing if I make it clear I really don't want to. Happy?"

He grinned.

"Very."

Cuddy blinked, as House paused.

She was naked. On a bed. He had permission. Hell, he had an invitation.

But he was just standing there, in his sweatpants, looking exceedingly uncomfortable.

Cuddy said nothing. She knew what the problem was.

He sat down on the edge of the bed.

Cuddy sat up, snaking her arms around his bare waist and resting her chin on his shoulder.

"Sorry... I..."

"I know, shhh."

He swallowed.

"Right."

Cuddy let go, as he started to slide his pants and boxers off.

He stopped.

Cuddy touched his shoulder, not pushing.

He leaned forward, head in his hands.

"I'm sorry."

"No. The no forcing rule applies to you too. I'm not going to push. I don't want to push."

"Good, cus that's my job."

Cuddy laughed.

His hand moved towards the edge of his pants again, but he stopped, and moved it back towards his chin, stopped, moved it back towards his pants.

"House, it's ok. I really mean I don't want to push."

"So I'm just supposed to say I'm too scared to take off my pants and you'll be fine with that and get dressed and forget until I'm ready, and it won't matter at all." he asked, dryly.

"Yes."

He sat up a little straighter, looking over his shoulder at her.

She looked serious and truthful.

"It'll matter. You won't say it, but it'll matter."

"No. No it won't. Well, yes it will. It'll matter because it'll mean that you didn't hide that you were scared to do it from me. It'll matter because you trusted me with the knowledge of that fear. But that's the only way it'll matter."

He looked at her for a long time.

Then he nodded.

"Ok."

"Do you want to go back to the livingroom?"

"No... no, I want... I just want to wait."

"Ok."

It didn't happen, however. The waiting did, but every time he tried to push himself, his hand just moved away of its own accord.

An hour later, Cuddy was sitting next to him on the piano bench as he played, smiling, enjoying the music and the sight of his fingers on the keys and the smell of the pine soap and mossy shampoo and him. Him right next to her, smiling, playing for her.

All these years, she had been scared of getting involved with a lecherous ass because that's what he showed her he was.

Not someone who was uncertain and unsure of what to do. Not someone who didn't know how to understand his own emotions. Not someone who was scared of his own emotions. Not someone who was scared of what her emotions might do to his emotions. Not someone who couldn't bring themselves to open up that little, last, deeply private part of themselves, even if they wanted and tried for an hour to do so. Not someone who, yes, despite knowing every curve of her butt and hips as well as exactly when she ovulated, knew what her favorite song was, and chose it without asking.

No. She had been scared of someone who didn't exist.

And she had found someone she hadn't known was there.

Someone who was exactly who she had been trying to find for years.

Wilson stared. That was it. Just stared.

There were two piles of snowballs. One on either side of the steps to House's front door. The snow was packed down near the piles. There were footprints, and kneeprints, and, on one side, caneprints.

House had had a snowball fight.

With someone wearing a pair of his shoes–or possibly Foreman.

But since Foreman was even more unlikely to get in a snowball fight than House...

Wilson carefully pushed his way through the snow, tried not to slip on the icy steps, entered the hallway, and stopped.

On the one hand, it would be rude to barge in.

On the other... like House ever got the door or did the non-rude thing.

He sighed.

Just because House never did didn't mean he wasn't still supposed to.

He knocked.

"Let yourself in!" came House's voice from through the door.

He sighed again, unlocking the door.

Then nearly choked.

House.

Cuddy.

Couch.

Cuddling.

Fire.

Smiling.

Arm.

Shoulders.

Cheek.

Chest.

House and Cuddy on the couch, cuddling, with a fire in the fireplace that hadn't been used since House moved in, both smiling, House's arm around Cuddy's shoulders, Cuddy's check against his chest.

House raised his eyebrows as Wilson slid down the doorframe in a literal faint.

"See? That's why I didn't tell him over the phone."

Cuddy rolled her eyes, getting up. Ok, so maybe he was still a bit of an ass. But she liked a bit of an ass. Just not all of an ass.

House smirked, levering himself to his feet and following her.

She was kneeling down, shaking Wilson's shoulder.

"He's not waking up." she said, worried.

House poked Wilson hard in the chest with his cane.

Wilson started, opening his eyes.

"Ow."

House smirked again.

"Heavy sleeper."

Cuddy blinked, looking back at Wilson.

"Are you ok?"

He nodded, still looking a little shaky.

"Sorry... what happened...?"

"You just passed out."

He frowned, looking upset.

"I didn't hit my head or anything..."

House poked him with the cane again–lighter this time.

Wilson glared at House.

House kissed Cuddy.

Wilson stared.

"That's why you passed out."

Wilson stared.

"Are you ok?" asked Cuddy.

Wilson stared.

"Wilson?" she asked again.

Wilson stared.

"Wilson?" she asked, shaking his shoulder and looking worried.

Wilson stared.

House poked him with his cane again.

Wilson stared.

House smirked.

"I think he's in shock."

Cuddy looked at him reproachfully.

"Oh relax. He's fine."

Cuddy looked back down at Wilson, watching as House knelt stiffly, slapping his friend across the cheek.

Wilson started.

"Wuh?" he asked, blinking and looking confused.

House grinned.

"You remember this time, or do I have to do it again?"

Wilson looked at him. Then grinned.

"I think you have to do it again."


End file.
